


Weight of Your Black Eye

by bispaceprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bispaceprincess/pseuds/bispaceprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke get into a little competition at the gym.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight of Your Black Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from underbellamy on tumblr:   
> “I caught you checking me out in the gym because every single wall is covered with a mirror and hey you’re pretty good looking I might as well start showing off” AU

Bellamy felt the weight of a gaze land on him, but it didn’t bother him. Not to sound cocky or anything, but this was nothing unusual. He continued on his way from the treadmill he had just been working out on to the weights section.

 

Throwing the small towel he carried to wipe of the equipment around his neck, he picked up two of the 40 lb. weights and faced the mirror to monitor his form as he went about his practiced routine. He smirked as he caught a flash of a golden ponytail whipping away behind him from the machine section.

 

He was almost finished his reps when he caught sight of her again. She was wearing those great leggings that all girls seemed to have, that showed off her perky butt and strong shapely legs and a tight blue tank top that seemed to match the exact color of her eyes. Her face was flushed a light pink from the exertion of her exercise and the ponytail she had dragged her light blonde hair into had little tendrils that had come loose and turned into ringlets with her sweat. She was on the treadmill, going at a pace and incline that caused her undeniably amazing rack to quiver in the most tantalizing way, even with the sports bra on. And she was checking him out, which he was aware of thanks to the fact that every single wall in the gym was covered in mirrors. Bellamy sent a thank you to the heavens for that particular stroke of luck.

 

Waiting until he was sure she was looking, he exchanged his weights for a 70 lb weight and sauntered over to the bench in front of the mirror to start doing bicep curls, his eyes on her in the mirror the whole time. The glances she was sending him were no longer covert, but blatant. A faint smirk flitted across her face as she jabbed a few buttons on the treadmill and picked up her pace.

 

Never one to back down from a challenge, Bellamy too picked up his pace, despite the burning in his biceps due to the added weight. His eyes remained locked on hers, through the mirror. Her gaze was equal parts challenging and electrifying. Her eyebrow quirked up when he switched arms. He must have underestimated how tired he had become with his left arm, because when he switched to his right, but kept up the same intensity he had built towards the end on his left the result was the weight slamming into his face. He fell off the bench, already feeling the blood dripping down his face. _Fuck_.

 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” the cute blonde exclaimed as she rushed to his side.

“Do you usually have three heads?”

“Only on the full moon,” she chuckled. “Your nose is really bleeding, I’m going to support your neck as you sit up so you don’t choke on your blood, okay?”

“Okay” he agreed, dazedly.

Once he was seated, with his back resting against the bench, she instructed him to hang his head down and pressed his towel against his face to catch the dropping blood. 

“Whad’s your gname?” he slurred out through the towel.

“I’m sorry?” she responded, with a look on her face that indicated that he had not made himself clear.

“What’s your name?” He repeated, removing the towel from his face. “I think I should know who to thank”

“Oh, my name is Clarke,” she answered. “But really, you don’t have to thank me. Hell, I’m pretty sure this is all my fault”

“Da’s true” he agreed, with the towel back at his face, because the bleeding had started up again.

“How aboud you gib me your number to say sowwy?” he asked with a look he had long ago perfected, that straddled the line between puppy and smolder.

She burst out laughing. Apparently the bloody towel and rapidly developing black eye had tempered the looks effectiveness.

He removed the towel again and said “I’m Bellamy, by the way”

“Well, Bellamy, it is a pleasure to meet you. Though, I don’t think a number is going to quite cut it, how about I take you out? How do you feel about first dates to the emergency clinic?”

“Dat sounds nithe” he replied with what he hoped was a charming smile.

She grinned back as she helped him to his feet.

 

When he got home hours later, with a prescription for T3, a black eye and Clarke’s number, he couldn’t help but feel like he had won their little competition. 


End file.
